


Actions Speak Louder

by casthewise (quillquiver)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom!Cas, Community: deancas_xmas, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Smut, Sweet Sex, dom!Dean, slight D/s, sub!cas, top!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 10:57:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3117593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quillquiver/pseuds/casthewise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inexplicably, Cas bites his lip in response to the touch, fists turning white with his vice grip on the towel. There’s something about the gentle way the hunter brushes his injury that makes his cheeks and chest flush. The towel droops until it reveals a sharp hipbone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Actions Speak Louder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> This was written for the Dean/Cas Secret Santa Exchange. I think it's a little more easy on the D/S than you would have maybe liked, but I really hope that you like it!

When Castiel pushes for that place in space and time that is: the 18 th of January, Motel 6, room 8, 8:00 p.m., he briefly thinks that he’s never been so exhausted. He doesn’t feel anything but the wind rushing past his face, vessel crashing into being as he tears through the room, scorching the carpet and destroying the furniture. He’s never felt so vulnerable, vision coming and going with his hearing as his thoughts run on repeat:  _Traitor. Worthless. Rebelrebel **rebel**. You have failed us completely, Castiel. Killer of your own kind; you have **forsaken** us._

The area under his nose is wet and his side twinges when he moves. Coughing, Castiel tastes something metallic and rolls over onto what feels like the less hurt side of his body. His face is streaked with sweat and dirt.

“Cas?! Cas!”

When Castiel attempts to speak, he gags.

“Shh shhh, don’t talk. Shit. _Shit_. You dumb bastard. C’mon, let’s get you fixed up.”

He’s a dead weight against his saviour, blue eyes too unfocused to see much of anything until they enter a bright white room. He feels himself propped up against the toilet, water forced into his mouth in sweet relief as another hand wipes at his skin. There’s this hideous wheezing sound that Cas realizes is coming from himself before packages are ripping and white hot pain rips up his side. With a cry, Castiel is shushed again, a shaky hand brushing wet and red through his hair as a voice that sounds like Dean’s assures him everything will be okay:

“You’re good. You’re good, Cas. Hey, hey look at me. Let’s see those baby blues. There we go. Gorgeous. Kay, this is gonna hurt. You need to stay still, you got me? Don’t move.”

Castiel can literally feel his vessel being stitched up.

It’s incredibly painful and he stays awake for all of it, crying and gripping tightly to Dean’s shoulders to steady himself. He’s sure he’s holding tightly enough to leave bruises, but for now he could care less. Completely immersed in his own pain, Castiel begs for relief, and attempts to attain it in any way possible.

“Almost done, Buddy. You’re doin’ so good. So good, Angel. One more…”

The moment his grace stops seeping out, the world comes back into sharp focus. It’s almost discombobulating; the way Dean’s face is inches from his own, strong hands rough from hunting on his side and cupping his face. “Hey there, soldier,” he says cheerily, though his eyes are bright with worry. “Glad to see you’re still truckin’.”

Castiel swallows. His throat is less dry. “Dean?”

“The one and only,” he replies, rummaging in the first aid kit. Opening the angel’s legs, Dean settles himself between them and leans up to wipe at his bloody nose. “So, what happened out there? You fucked yourself up real good.”

“Abdiel,” Cas mutters. His breath is shaky. “He sided with Michael during Lucifer’s rebellion, and has, apparently, not changed his loyalties.” His eyes are slits as he looks down at the other man, Dean hands careful as they move from his nose to wipe up the rest of him.

Dean scoffs. “Sounds like a dick.”

“Not at the time,” Castiel says wryly. “He was the only angel in Lucifer’s garrison to defy him. That’s why I had originally thought to approach him. I thought that if anybody—” Cas grits his teeth. “But no. Now, he’s cocky. He lets his past loyalties blind him.”

“So, what, he got the jump on you?”

Castiel bites his lip and shifts his gaze. _You have forsaken us._ “In a manner of speaking.”

With a hesitant nod, Dean leans back on his heels, giving Cas’s filthy body a once over. “You need to shower, dude. Here, lemme show you how it works and I’ll get some clothes. You okay now that you’re all stitched up?”

When Castiel stands, it takes him a second to get his bearings, but his hearing and vision are fine. He listens to Dean explain how the shower works before hopping in, stitches almost halfway healed. Washing quickly, he steps out to find that his stitches have to be taken out. “Dean?”

Cas doesn’t have enough strength to take them out with the power of his grace, nor does he have the energy to dry himself. With nimble fingers, the angel takes the towel from the counter and holds it out just as Dean enters the bathroom.

“Cas!” he squeaks, immediately looking away. “ _Jesus_ , cover yourself up!”

Castiel merely raises a brow before doing as asked. He wraps the towel around his waist, holding it in place as water drips from his hair and down his torso. He feels cold for the first time in his existence, looking at his goosebumped skin with a mild curiosity. “I believe the stitches are ready to be removed.”

“What, already?” Embarrassment forgotten, Dean approaches and drops to his knees, carefully moving the starched towel aside to reveal practically healed pink skin. “Huh.”

“I’m too weak to do much else but speed up the process,” Cas explains, looking down at his wound with a frown. To the average observer, it would appear that Castiel was considering it with frustration and annoyance given the reduced potency of his grace… but to the angel, the slight handicap was less than important.

More pressing was the way Dean’s fingers trailed heat across his skin.

Inexplicably, Cas bites his lip in response to the touch, fists turning white with his vice grip on the towel. There’s something about the gentle way the hunter brushes his injury that makes his cheeks and chest flush. The towel droops until it reveals a sharp hipbone.

Dean doesn’t even flinch. Completely in caretaker mode, he nods to himself before getting up, palms pressing against Cas’s body as he steadies himself. At the onslaught of new heat, Castiel feels his eyes slip shut, the crease between his brows deepening as he swallows whatever sounds attempt to crawl up his throat.

“Hey, you okay? Feelin’ dizzy?”

Cas shakes his head, unable to speak as Dean looks at him with concern before helping him out of the bathroom and towards the bed. He gets his friend to carefully sit, pushing at his shoulder and covering his groin with the towel while Cas lays down stiffly, trying in vain to calm his wildly beating heart. In the mean time, Dean gets supplies from the first aid kit.

“This might be a little uncomfortable.”

It is, but not for the reason Dean thinks.

Having the hunter so close, so openly caring and concerned for Castiel’s own wellbeing is—well, it’s overwhelming. They way Dean carefully snips the stitches and pulls them out, the way his thumb rubs soothing circles onto his hip to calm him down… the way he’s completely concentrated; like there is nothing more important than fixing a half-broken, banished angel.

The intensity of it all almost causes Cas to choke.

He exhales shakily, tears welling up in his blue eyes until they shine ethereally. Looking away, Castiel picks at the bedspread with trembling hands. “I don’t deserve you,” he confesses quietly, still refusing to look up. The only indication Cas has that Dean is listening is that the other man stops dead in his movement. “I am… so beyond repair,” Castiel laughs bitterly. “It’s laughable to mend me like this. As if intact skin will make anything better. I don’t understand what you see in me.”

Though Dean doesn’t speak, his hand moves, palm down, to Cas’s bicep. The angel scoffs. “I am nothing,” he says as tears begin to fall. “I am _less_ than nothing. I have betrayed my family, my species… who’s to say I will not betray you as well? I am everything an angel should not be. I have… failed so many times. Even before, I—” Cas swallows thickly. “I am warrior,” he grits out. “I am a force to be reckoned with. But I am so crooked that—”

Dean’s hand squeezes his arm. Castiel sniffles.

“Intent can only go so far,” he says quietly. “I don’t deserve to be healed. I don’t deserve your company. I don’t deserve your kindness. I should be watching over you and even that simple task is one I’ve failed at.” Biting his lip dejectedly, Cas closes his eyes tightly and lets his shoulders slump, head hanging down in utter exhaustion. “I’m sorry.”

Castiel doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but it’s not for Dean to continue his work as if nothing happened. He’s not expecting a big discussion, but the way the hunter stays quiet and keeps his gaze focussed firmly on Cas’s wound causes the angel to clench his jaw against another onslaught of tears. He understands, now, why Dean doesn’t like opening up in such a state of vulnerability. It’s unbearable.

When the last stich has been removed and his injury re-bandaged, Castiel wraps his damp towel more securely around himself and turns onto his side, face contorting into an expression of extreme agony.

And then he feels it, hesitant and light but present against his shoulder blade.

A kiss.

Castiel’s breath hitches, eyes flying open as his entire body tenses. The angel stays completely still, muscles twitching when Dean’s lips return, this time more certain. Kisses are peppered across his back and up his spine, culminating in a small nip to the back of his neck. Instinctively, Cas reaches back, fingers tangling in Dean’s shirt as the other man presses them flush, his own fingers drawing nonsensical patterns over bandaged and flawless flesh, lips moving to work at the side of Castiel’s neck. He breathes in his friend’s damp, clean-smelling hair, loving relentlessly on him in every way he knows how.

After all, Dean has never been one for spoken confession.

Instead, he declares and professes through movement; through the way he gyrates his hips and sucks marks onto Cas’s skin. _I want you._ He moves back only once to let Castiel lay down on his back, and promptly descends upon him, tangling their legs and kissing him deeply and unrepentantly. _I accept you._ Cas is panting by the time Dean deems it time to suckle his way down the other’s chest, paying special attention to every beauty mark he can find. He pauses when he gets to Castiel’s tummy, simply breathing in the smell of him freshly washed as he nuzzles soft skin. _You belong._ His cheeks are red and hot against Cas’s goosebumped flesh, and the angel reaches forward with no other goal than reassuring him; than being with him.

But when Castel’s fingers sift through Dean’s hair, the hunter pulls back to nip at his fingers in warning. When Cas pushes at his partner’s clothes moments later, he gets a head shake for his trouble. “But—”

Dean kisses him. “No talking,” he breathes. Unspoken are the words that ring between them, almost stifling in their intimacy: _Let me._

_Trust me._

Castiel submits.

He leans back with nothing but his own laboured breathing as their soundtrack while Dean works his way down and down and down. The angel is more than aroused at this point, the feeling of it oddly all-consuming in his weakened state. The physical manifestation is hard to ignore, period, and blessed relief is all Cas can think about as Dean works his way further down his stomach, leaving love bites along his abdomen and hips. “ _Please_ —”

The warning look Cas gets quiets him quickly. Instead, the angel keeps himself as still as possible but for his hips, which he raises in an plea for release. Dean moves his lips to the juncture of Castiel’s thighs. He suckles and kisses unhindered, Cas spreading his legs as Dean holds him down onto the mattress. He puts his mouth to every part of Castiel except the ones that matter, licking long his perineum but avoiding the places that would give him the most pleasure. Then, he leaves.

He doesn’t go far, but the moment Dean begins moving away, Cas is certain he’s going to have a panic attack. He bolts into a seated position, grabbing the hunter’s hand before it can slip away. He doesn’t speak.

It turns out he doesn’t need to.

“Trust me,” Dean breathes, kissing his angel tenderly.

Dean comes back to bed with lube. He slicks up his fingers while distracting Castiel with more kisses, moving down his body until he’s nosing at his cock. Cas almost bites his tongue in his effort to keep quiet, but he doesn’t speak, fisting his hands in his own hair in the hope of gaining some control. He eyes squeeze shut.

The tip of Dean’s finger is circling his rim. The moment he pushes in, he also swallows Castiel’s cock. Cas hiccups an unintelligible noise, chest heaving against the onslaught of tight heat. He barely notices what’s going on at his backside but for the odd twinge here and there, but Dean works him tirelessly. Whenever he feels Castiel is getting too close he lays off, until the angel feels himself oddly open and filled. His cockhead is plump and bright red, body trembling and begging for release as Dean spreads his legs further. Cas has no idea what the goal of this is until Dean is licking at his hole. The hunter removes his fingers slowly, sucking lightly before sliding his tongue in as far as it will go.

Not that Dean stays there for long. In fact, he up on his knees before Cas can even get close to coming, peeling of his shirts and kicking off his pants and boxers. Grabbing a condom from the bedside table, he slides it on expertly and gives himself a few tugs before moving back down. This time, when he kisses Cas, he’s trembling, too. “I’ve got you.”

Castiel can only nod.

Dean pushes in.

But it is ever overwhelming. It hurts first and foremost, a sting that eventually abates to something dull and manageable. Then, it’s just closeness; impossible, incredible closeness that fills Cas up until he has trouble breathing. It warms him completely and absolutely, fuels a fire in his belly that can’t recognize two separate entities, but sets them aflame as a whole. Though they don’t speak, Castiel hears everything Dean says, from the way he kisses him tenderly to how he presses their fingers, entangled, into the mattress above their heads. _You are not broken. You are not crooked. You are everything._

When Dean finally moves, Cas feels as if his world has shattered.

Everything is white noise as their slow pace becomes more frenzied, both men panting into each other’s space as their mouths become useless for much else. The feeling of closeness seems to have tripled, and Castiel wraps his legs around Dean’s waist to chase more of it, encircling his shoulders when the hunter releases his hands. Dean uses one arm for the same purpose and braces himself against the headboard with the other.

With the friction of their moving bodies against his pre-come and lube-slick cock, Castiel comes. He does so with a shout, panting his way through his orgasm as Dean rides him through it, the world turning white around them. Cas feels blinded by the pleasure he experiences, relaxing to something boneless as the waves of tingling heat abate. He can barely lift his hands to brush through Dean’s hair as the other presses their foreheads together, thrusting in a hard, desperate motion while chasing his own release. He comes with Cas’s name on his lips.

Castiel holds him through it all.

They clean up half-assedly, using one of Dean’s shirts and tossing the condom in the general direction of the garbage can. Though Cas expects Dean to kick him out, the other man merely continues to hold him. tracing his body with his fingers and every so often leaning in for a kiss. It’s beyond pleasant, and Castiel wants to fall asleep, safe and cared for. Here, he doesn’t have to worry. Here, Dean can take care of him—is taking care of him… and it’s nice.

It’s nice that the rest of the Universe is non-existent.

“Dean?”

“Mmm?” The hunter looks up from where he’s inspecting Cas’s bandage, sleepy and smiling as he leans in for yet another kiss. Castiel indulges him enthusiastically.

“Thank you,” the angel breathes as they pull away.

Dean falters at that, ducking his head in a nod as he presses their mouths together for the billionth time. “…Any time,” he responds, shaken.

Unspoken, three words hang heavy between them:

 _I love you_.


End file.
